Lost in Austen, The Next Chapter: Lost in Emma
by A Free Elf
Summary: Amanda has disappeared into the world of Pride and Prejudice, and her best friend Freya is starting to wonder why she hasn't heard from her in weeks. Concerned, she goes to her flat, only to find a strangely-dressed girl called Emma standing in the bath.
1. A Modern Nightmare

Emma's foot peeked out from underneath the long layers of her petticoats. She nervously glanced around before letting her shoe clap down in the bottom of the bath. The other foot soon followed and, sure enough, Miss Woodhouse was now standing in the strangest and, in her opinion, most disagreeable room she had ever set eyes upon. The sickly-sweet scent of not-quite-apple-blossom and strawberries lingered in the air and the walls all around her were decorated with mermaids, shells and other sea-creatures. The colour scheme was inescapably blue, while smooth white machines covered with many little knobs and dials littered the walls and surfaces. She felt like she had stumbled into another world.

"Manda?"

Emma froze. She hadn't considered that she might meet someone here. Now it seemed to follow that a house, however odd, would have someone living in it.

"Manda are you up there?" The voice called again. It was coming from below her and most definitely belonged to a woman. Emma swayed with indecision: should she turn back? She knew her father would be worried by now and, after all, it really wouldn't do to be caught snooping around in someone else's house. She heard more hurried footsteps, this time travelling up some stairs, and the sound of doors opening and closing.

Well it was too late now.


	2. Who the hell are you?

"Manda?"

Freya reached out to open the last door on the landing, but her hand fell momentarily limp at her side. Was she overreacting? It wasn't as though this was the first time that Amanda had gone AWOL – last summer she'd gone to Paris for five weeks without even mentioning it! The winter before that Amanda had neglected to call her for a month because she'd split up with her boyfriend and wanted to be alone. Sighing at the inequality of their friendship, Freya turned the handle.

"Er… who the hell are you?"

Emma, who'd been torn between staying in the bathroom and going back through the doorway, had remained standing in the bath. She looked nothing less than comical crouched under the showerhead, wearing a floor-length Regency-style dress with ringlets and matching ribbons.

She was a little taken aback by Freya's profanity. "I'm so terribly sorry!" she gushed. "I seem to have landed in your – er – tub, by mistake! But I can assure you that I never intended to trespass upon your property and I'm only - "

"Calm yourself down sweetheart, I don't live here," interrupted Freya. "I was just looking for my friend – Amanda – have you seen her?"

Emma shook her head.

"Well no-one's seen her for weeks and I just thought I'd drop in to see if she was OK." She eyed Emma warily for a moment. "Why are you dressed like that?"

Emma glanced down at herself as if she'd forgotten what she was wearing. "I've just come back from a ball," she replied simply.

Freya gave a little self-deprecating laugh. "I suppose that was a bit of a stupid question - fancy dress was it?"

"Well it wasn't supposed to be that formal, but I always like to make the effort." She paused. "Why are you dressed like a man?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh I didn't mean to be rude. It's just, where I come from, it's the men who wear the trousers - you look like a farmhand!"

Freya couldn't work out if she was being insulted or not. "Where's that? The place you come from I mean. And how exactly did you end up coming from there to standing in my missing friend's bathroom, just on your way back from a ball?"

Emma looked downwards and shuffled her feet slightly. She made no reply.

Freya's expression hardened. "Alright, have it your way. I'm calling the police."

Emma looked up sharply.

"Or," continued Freya, glad she'd secured Emma's attention, "you can tell me what the hell is going on here."

Emma perched herself sideways on the edge of the bath. "My name is Miss Emma Woodhouse, and I should just as well be asking you what you are doing in my bedroom cupboard." She smiled weakly.

Freya snorted derisively. "Fine, if you're just going to take the piss…" She turned towards the door.

Emma scrambled to her feet, looking desperately confused. "But it's true! My name _is_ Emma Woodhouse and I'm one and twenty years-old. I live on the Hartfield estate with my father and I can't for the life of me work out how I got here."

Freya considered Emma for a moment. "You're telling me that you're Emma Woodhouse – I mean, _the_ Emma Woodhouse? You realise she's just a character in a book right?" She sniggered at Emma's expense. "You know, not _real_?"

Emma frowned. "I don't know what you're talking about, Miss - "

"Edgecombe. Freya Edgecombe."

" - Miss Edgecombe, but I do believe that you're as confused as I am." She paused. "Would you like me to show you where I came here from?"

And despite everything that had just happened, and all the incredulity and annoyance Freya was feeling at that moment, the answer that presented itself so forcefully in the forefront of her mind was:

"Yes."


	3. Through the Looking Glass

Emma swung her legs over the side of the bath and got out. She straightened up and smoothed down her hair and clothes.

"The truth is, Miss Edgecombe, I ended up here because I was looking for a place to hide."

Freya's brows knitted. "From what?"

"I'm not quite sure, but I know that I couldn't stand my life as it was anymore. I felt as though I'd spent most of my time staring wistfully out of windows, just wondering what might lie beyond my disappointingly small sphere of existence. Not only that, I wanted to escape from all these insufferable social gatherings and balls: I'd convinced myself that matchmaking and gossiping with my friends could constitute fulfilling and meaningful pastimes. Suddenly it all seemed so futile." She sighed. "So, and I don't know why, I climbed into my bedroom cupboard, closed the door, and just sat there. It was only when I leaned against its far side, that it swung open to reveal this place." Emma pointed towards the bathroom cabinet. "That's where I came through."

Freya didn't reply, but walked over slowly to the place where Emma was pointing. The cabinet itself was slightly ajar and, now that she was close enough to notice, she saw that a soft golden glow was coming from behind its door. After a moment she said, "You know I had plans for today."

Emma smiled. "I won't be long, I just need some time to myself. Just say that you're my friend from Buckinghamshire. I've sent you to Hartfield to keep my father company while I stay with your family, in Aylesbury."

Freya gave an almost imperceptible nod and, after squeezing herself into the cabinet with some difficulty, plunged headfirst into Emma's world.

*

The sharp and sudden coming together of face and floor resulted in a loud, 'Ow!' and the muttering of several expletives. She lay for a moment on the wooden boards while she tried to gather her bearings.

"Good heavens! Are you quite alright?"

An old man was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a red velvet cloak. His expression was more one of concern than confusion.

Freya scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could, still a little dazed from her fall. She tried to formulate an intelligible reply, but thoughts seemed to be travelling through her head incredibly slowly. "Er – yes! Yes I'm fine." She paused for a moment. "Are you Mr Woodhouse?"

The old man looked taken aback. "To be sure! And, I'm glad you're not injured Miss, but if you'll forgive my asking, what were you doing in my daughter's bedroom cupboard?"

"I was… er… well…" Freya racked her mind. "I was running an errand – for Emma – just putting some of her things in order."

"Oh," replied Mr Woodhouse. "I see. And are you a friend of Emma's?"

"Yes – a very good friend. In fact, as I'm sure she's explained to you, it's my family that she's staying with in Aylesbury; a trip she embarked upon in order to see more of the countryside. My name is Miss Edgecombe."

Mr Woodhouse chuckled. "Miss Edgecombe, I'm afraid you must be mistaken. Emma has never been fond of travel at all – quite the contrary. She isn't the type to go gadding off around the countryside on a whim. After all, she would have asked for my blessing first."

"I assure you it's true! She asked me to stay here to help with the estate's affairs for a while and to return the favour to my family." After a moment's silence, Freya opted for a rather awkward curtsy.

"Goodness me! Am I to be told nothing nowadays? Well I suppose you better come downstairs then. We have company and I'll need to introduce you to everyone if you're going to be staying with us." His expression changed. "On second thoughts, perhaps you better change first. Emma appears to have left most of her things behind so you can borrow one of her dresses." He paused. "I know you young do like to indulge these ridiculous fashions and trends, but trousers hardly seem appropriate, given the circumstances." He left the room muttering 'not even a day's notice!' and closed the door behind him.

Once changed, Freya admired her reflection in Emma's dressing-table mirror. Not bad, she thought, rearranging the frills of her dress, but they're going to sniff me out as an impostor a mile off. She sighed. Was she being stitched up here? Perhaps by some TV company who wanted to catch her reaction on camera. She could see it now – 'Freya Edgecombe, 21, an avid Austen fan, was fooled into thinking that she'd fallen through a portal in her friend's bathroom cabinet that led straight into Emma Woodhouse's bedroom!' Nonetheless, she found it hard to doubt that her surroundings were genuine: Emma and her father had been just like she'd imagined them. The only problem was that she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. After all, what would the world of Emma be like given the fact Emma wasn't there?


End file.
